I lie about happiness, I lie about people and how they are. I lie about reality. I lie because I dont know whats real anymore. So everything is a lie by default. Truth is I feel like people can see through me, they can see into my eyes and they suspect. They suspect me lying. Covering up. Because all I want to do is cry. I dont want to smile, or "be happy to be here". I dont want to be here before, during or after these events. I don't actually want to exist. I don't want what's not good for me, but I also don't want the pain. Both are pain. I try to tell myself suffering is inside. So is happiness. Sometimes I feel that both are equally illusions. Realism is just the slow walk toward death from the moment of birth. I try to bring people up but I have NO ONE. I have myself. Thats enough. For me. For no one else. For everyone else I am a wall, invisible, a hand, an extension, a life vest, a reason to quit, a reason to try, an option, a "yes", the answer, a goal, a challenge, a burden, a distraction from themselves. Who am I to them. Who am I to myself. Maybe Im a parasite. Maybe Im the narcissist. Maybe Im insane. I dont think it even matters. Who cares. Does anyone care? Why bother? I wish I could go back to the past or the future or right now or never or someday. I wish I could collect the bits of myself I let fall like droplets and spilled like breadcrumbs picked up by birds. Gone now. Over dramatic. Psychotic. Illogical. Invisible. Invisible. Invisible. Invisible. Im here! I want to yell. I stopped doing that when I was 5. Do you want to hear the story? I want to ask, knowing the secret answer. It didnt matter. I dont matter. Years of evidence in the silence. Im a liar. I see suspicion in their eyes. They think Im a liar, and I am, but they have it wrong. Years of silence make me insane. Years and then decades. Erase. Delete. Blown in the wind and forgotten. Clean slate for the same spills. Same words. Im sorry.